Word: balding
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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Shuffling into Yankee Stadium in 1961, a hairless has-been at 35, discarded by San Francisco, Quarterback Yelberton Abraham Tittle passed the New York Giants to three straight Eastern Division titles and won a spread all his own in the N.F.L. record book. But 1964 was the year the Bald Eagle didn't have it. Weary and often injured, he wound up next to last in the passing statistics, and the Giants plummeted to last place. So after 17 years in pro football, Y.A., now 38, announced that he was folding his wings. "I never wanted...
...bald eagles and 200 crows spotted in Topsfield; whistling swans still found in Westport; the rusty blackbird nesting in Lincoln; the purple sandpipers piping sand to Plum Island; a partridge in a pear tree seen in Bethlehem...
Eight million Russians received a new April 17 in the mails last week, with a succinct instruction to insert it in their official Communist Party calendars for 1965. The new date was nothing like the old. Gone was the photo of the bald head, the round face unsmiling above the five medals, the six-line biography describing his rise to Chairman of the Council of Ministers and First Party Secretary. Even the fellow's inspirational quote on the back gave way to an anonymous poem praising party modesty. Thus, by having his birthday wiped from the state calendar...
...these bald philosophic propositions are the weakest part of a suspenseful and moving script. Of course it's redundant for the man to say "It's useless," or "Even a monkey could be trained to do this" when he's digging in a hole as dismal as that one; but after sand, struggle and serendipity, when life gets reduced to ciggs, sake, and sex, the sensations are powerfully communicated to the audience: you taste that drag, you smell that swig, you ... like the feelies in Brave New World...
...bald theorem, the story is nothing much. But White uses poetic means to suggest the self-defeat of a woman in whose face life has closed its door. Promised a view of an "estuary of black swans," Anthea imagines herself standing on the promontory that is covered by paperbark trees, near enough to see the writhing of the black necks. "Did she altogether want? Or touch the papery bark, flaking down, down around the grey dunny,* into opalescent scales. Sun and wind, to say nothing of moonlight, had worked upon the paper-barks. Better to watch without becoming involved...